than this in the ninth--or thereabouts--century?" asked Malcom, with
wondering eyes.

"I mean to say just that, Malcom. But I must tell you something more
about this same Greek Byzantine painting, for there is a school of it
to-day. Should you go to Southern Italy or to Russia, you would find
many booths for trading, in the back of which you would see a Madonna,
or some saint, painted in just this style. These pictures have gained a
superstitious value among the lower classes of the people, and are
believed to possess a miraculous power. In Mt. Athos, Greece, is a
school that still produces them. Doubtless this has grown out of the
fact that several of these old paintings, notably Madonnas, are
treasured in the churches, and the people are taught that miracles have
been wrought by them. In the Santa Maria Maggiore, Rome, is an example
(the people are told that it was painted by St. Luke), and during the
plague in Rome, and also during a great fire which was most disastrous,
this painting was borne through the city by priests in holy procession,
and the tradition is that both plague and fire were stayed."

"What a painfully ridiculous figure!" exclaimed Barbara, who had been
silently absorbed in study. "It is painful because every line looks as
if the artist had done his very best, and that is so utterly bad. It
means absolutely nothing."

"You have fathomed the woful secret," replied Mr. Sumner. "It shows no
evidence of the slightest thought. Only a man's _fingers_ produced this.
All power of originality had become lost; all desire for it was
unknown."

"Then, how did things ever get better?" asked Malcom.